


Hearts Shall Dance Once Again

by BlossomsintheMist



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Skating, Ice Skating, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, figure skating AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 00:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16862869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: Steve and Tony are the top two men’s figure skaters from the United States.  Steve is just starting a run at the top of his game, while Tony is trying to make a comeback after a disastrous season a few years ago.





	Hearts Shall Dance Once Again

**Author's Note:**

> There’s quite a bit of discussion of underage drinking here, as they talk about an incident that happened a few years ago, when Tony was very definitely underage. Tony is nineteen now, and Steve is twenty. Tony and Steve are both men’s singles skaters, while Bucky and Natasha skate pairs. (I haven’t decided for all the other characters I want to include yet.) Fury is Steve’s coach, while Obadiah Stane is Tony’s. I have a lot more of this fic planned out, but this is just a piece I’ve written so far.
> 
> “Hearts shall dance once again; when canvas of ice is painted with the brush of skates.”  
> ― Shah Asad Rizvi

Steve was jogging in place, trying to warm up, when the other skater came in on the other side of the warm-up room and set down his bags.  The first thing Steve noticed was the TV camera following him.  The second was that he was alone otherwise—no coaches, no family.  The third was the hush that immediately started to spread over the rest of the skaters warming up.

Only the fourth thing he noticed was the fact that he recognized him.  Tony Stark.  He’d beaten Steve at U.S. Nationals earlier that year.  Come in third at Worlds and shocked everyone.  He hadn’t been supposed to make a comeback, not after—well, everything. Steve hadn’t realized he’d slowed down at first, watching him as he bent forward to shrug out of his jacket, revealing the loose red-button down shirt he was wearing—he was in his performance gear already.  His dark hair fell over his forehead.  Steve still wasn’t used to the mustache.

“That’s Tony Stark,” Natasha purred, leaning over his shoulder.

“I know,” Steve said without thinking.  Wasn’t she supposed to be warming up with Bucky somewhere?

Natasha laughed softly and squeezed his shoulder.  “Holding a grudge from Nationals, hm?” she asked.

Steve shook his head, still watching Tony—Stark.  He had turned to the TV cameraman and was now arguing with the reporters in short, quiet tones.  Before too long one of them threw up their hands, and the whole lot of them left, TV camera and all.  Stark replaced his earbuds and started to stretch out over his legs.

“It’s true,” Natasha said. “A grudge isn’t like you.”

“Mmm,” Steve agreed. He forced himself to start moving again, twisting out of Natasha’s arm so that he could go back to jogging.

Natasha just crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall beside him.  “You know the story, of course,” she said.  “He went on the ice drunk.  He’s an alcoholic.”

At the Grand Prix Final, almost three years ago.  Steve had been there, just to cheer on his teammates, of course.  He’d seen the whole thing.  He still wasn’t sure if he’d admired Tony for skating more than he was horrified by the blatant disrespect, the inappropriateness of the whole thing, or the other way around.  He should have withdrawn, everyone had said.  Given some other skater his spot, rather than make a mockery of the whole event. Maybe that was true, but Steve—well, Tony had worked for it, he’d thought.  He’d understood why he’d wanted to skate.  Even though he … probably shouldn’t have.

“His parents had just died in that wreck,” he murmured to Natasha.  “And everyone just jumped on him.”

“He had already been pushing it,” Natasha said, “with the partying.  The drinking.  It’s not a surprise.”

“It’s good to see him back,” was all Steve said.  “And … uh, clean.”

“Or so they say,” Natasha said.

“He says he’s dry,” Steve said firmly.  “I believe him.”

“The white knight,” Natasha said, her lips curving into a smile.  Steve felt himself flush.

“Come on,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be warming up with Bucky?”

Natasha shrugged with a laugh.  “It’s just an exhibition,” she said, but she did push off from the wall and give him a little wave before heading off again.

Honestly, she and Bucky had just signed up for this show because Steve had—he needed the money, but they didn’t really, and he was grateful for the moral support, just having them around. Everything was so different now that he’d bulked up and started winning, and he wasn’t—used to it.  The attention on him.  Coming out of practice and seeing the press outside still made his stomach flip and roil uneasily.  Having his friends around, having them with him, it helped.

Steve bent over, started stretching out, reaching for his feet.  That same hush hadn’t dissipated yet, though groups of other skaters had formed, whispering to each other, even those much older and more famous than him or Tony—Stark, he reminded himself.  He didn’t even know him, really.  Stark was visibly isolated, the others giving him a wide berth, but he didn’t seem to notice as he bent down and placed his hands flat on the floor, stretching out.  He looked—good, Steve thought.  Fit, lean and trim.  Even stronger than he’d looked at Nationals and Worlds.  He’d looked a little pale there, a little out of condition, and he’d still wiped the floor with Steve.  Maybe he should be grateful this wasn’t a competition, Steve thought with a bit of a grin to himself.  He wasn’t ready to stand up to that kind of a challenge at the moment.  If Stark was going to keep showing up this season, well, he was going to need to train harder than ever.

The thought was a bit of a thrill.  He’d always admired Tony Stark.  Wished he could be half as good as he was, back when.  Steve didn’t examine it too much, just moved onto another stretch. But really, competing against Tony Stark, when Stark was at his best, and so was he?  The whole idea was amazing.  Exciting.  Stark didn’t even know who Steve was, he was sure, but Steve remembered him.  Tony’d been notorious for being a party boy, for skating hungover, and him only sixteen, but he’d been amazing, even still.  Even with only one quad jump.

Stark was stretching his muscles from side to side now.  He still had his earbuds in.  And Steve really needed to concentrate on his own warmup.  He forced his mind back to his routine, running through his choreography in his head.  If he forgot his steps again, Fury was going to kill him.  And he really did need the money.

It was just … it was embarrassing.  Steve wasn’t much of an artist on the ice; he knew it, everyone knew it.  He maybe had a habit of throwing in quad jumps to cover it up when he blanked on his choreo (at least the jumps he knew he could do), and lord, had Fury read him the riot act for that the last time he did an exhibition.  So he needed to focus.

But maybe he could … introduce himself to Stark?  He was sure the other skater wouldn’t remember him; it had been years, and—well, Stark had been through a lot in the intervening time.  But everyone else was visibly giving him such a cold shoulder, and it didn’t seem right to just leave him there with everyone pointedly ignoring him. Steve was the one Stark had beaten out at Nationals and pushed into fourth at Worlds.  If he said hello, maybe it would ease that freeze in the air a bit, somehow.

Stark was pulling his leg up to his shoulder now—wow, he really was flexible.  Steve didn’t want to interrupt him, but—

He should say hello. Steve straightened up from his own stretch and wiped his hands on his sweats before he started across the warmup room.

The whispering around them immediately stopped.  Stark turned to look at him, and then he stared at Steve for a moment before his eyes widened.  He dropped his leg and pulled one earbud out, looking up at Steve.

Steve held out his hand. “Hi,” he said, and swallowed. “I’m—”

Stark smiled a little, a little smirk that was hard to read.  “Steve Rogers,” he said.  “I know.” He pulled out his other earbud, draped them over his shoulder, and held out one gloved hand.  “Tony Stark.  But you already knew that, too.”

That was a bit—well, it was true, of course.  Steve couldn’t blame him for that.  But that hadn’t been how he’d expected this to go.  He shook Tony’s hand all the same, tried a smile.  “We met before,” he said, sheepishly.  “Years ago, now.  I was … um, I was smaller then.”

“I remember,” Tony said, and ran a hand back through his hair. “You do look a bit …” he smirked, again, and raised one eyebrow “. . . taller.”

Steve was uncomfortably aware of the eyes on them as he flushed and gulped down a breath. Tony—Stark—remembered him?  From before?  He … “It’s good to see you back,” he said, finally, grasping for something to say, and, well, it was the truth. 

Stark’s smile was a little disbelieving this time.  “Really,” he said, “because I seem to recall stealing your national title out from under you, Captain America.”

Steve knew his blush was furious this time.  That damned nickname.  Even more stupid, since he wasn’t the national champion anymore.  “You didn’t steal anything from me,” he said.  “You won it fair and square.”  It actually hadn’t been fair at all—Steve’s own program component scores had been massively overscored, and the judges had been ridiculously harsh on Stark’s.  If they hadn’t been, Steve would have been in second by a huge margin.  As it was, Stark had only beaten him by a point. So.  Stark’s win had been more than fair.  “Your free skate was incredible,” he added, knowing he was smiling admiringly but unable to help it.

Stark was giving him a wary look, though the smile stayed steady on his lips.  “Well, thank you, Mr. Rogers,” he said.

“Steve,” Steve said, immediately, then felt instantly self-conscious.  That was so—should he have—

“Then it’s Tony,” Stark— _Tony_ —said immediately, smoothly.  “So, you don’t want to be called America’s sweetheart, then?”

“Uh,” Steve said.

“Not Cap?  America’s Most Valuable Player?  Yankee Doodle Dandy?”

Steve laughed, his cheeks feeling very red.  “Just Steve is fine,” he said.

Tony flipped him a little mock salute.  “Understood,” he said.  “Steve it is.”

“Do great out there,” Steve said, flailing for something to say again.

Tony’s smile was still a little strange, but something relaxed around his eyes.  “Same goes for you,” he said.  “Knock ‘em dead, Steve.”

“Um, thanks,” Steve managed. He swallowed, bit his bottom lip. Tony winked and reached for his earbuds again.  “Good luck. It was nice meeting you.  Uh, again.  Tony.”

“It was a pleasure,” Tony said.  He had very long eyelashes. God.  “Steve.”

——

Tony was scheduled to go on the ice after Steve, so Steve figured he’d still be warming up.  He was concentrating so hard on his choreography—and getting it _right_ this time (he’d almost done it)—that he didn’t see anything until he’d taken his bow and started off the ice after helping pick up a good handful of flowers and stuffed animals. The last thing he’d expected was to see Stark—Tony—leaning on the edge of the rink near where Steve stepped off, obviously watching.  He pushed himself off and came over as soon as Steve was off the ice, even before his coach got to him.

“Very sharp,” he said. “Love the white shirt and suspenders look on you, big boy.”

“I … thank you,” Steve managed, catching his breath.

“There was an extra quad toe in there,” Tony said.  “It seems to me.”

“Last time I threw in a quad to cover up my, uh, bobbling on the choreo,” Steve admitted, “and everyone seemed to like it, so I thought . . . it might be good to throw one in toward the end again.  Keep things exciting.”

“Exciting,” Tony said, “Well, it was for me.  I’m jealous, Steve.”

“Um,” Steve managed. “Of what?”

“Your jumps,” Tony said. “They’re perfect.”  He grinned.  “And here comes your coach, so let me see myself out.”  He flipped Steve another little salute and turned away.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve called out after him.  He grabbed one of the little bears off the top of the pile in his arms, and tossed it toward him in a slow loop.  Tony caught it easily, looking startled.  “You can keep it,” Steve said, and knew he was blushing again.

Tony raised one eyebrow, then smiled again and nodded.

Tony’s program made Steve very glad he’d gone earlier in the night.  Steve was painfully aware that he was no artist.  Tony … was.  That didn’t even come close to describing what he did out there, though.  He didn’t have the biggest jumps Steve had ever seen, that was true, but it hardly mattered.  He was even better than Steve remembered from Nationals and Worlds. Tony might have said that Steve had perfect jumps ( _Tony Stark had said that Steve had perfect jumps!_ ), but as always, the sight of Tony’s triple axel practically gave Steve an inferiority complex all by itself.  There was just no one else skating who did it like him, and he looked even stronger on it than he had earlier that year.  Any day Steve got to see Tony Stark’s triple axel was a good day. But there was so much more than that. Tony was skating to Frank Sinatra, now, which was a change of program from the exhibition he’d been doing earlier that year.  Steve wasn’t quite sure if he should admit how Tony’s interpretation of the music got him a little hot under the collar.  Tony was _very_ flexible, and the way he shook his hips and twisted his body around was something to see for—well, for sure.

He was amazing.  Steve still wasn’t sure where the judges got off giving Steve anywhere near the PCS they gave Tony, especially with the depth and quality of his edges to go along with it.  His legs looked a lot less wobbly today, too, though, of course, he didn’t do any quads today.  There was no need for it in an exhibition, of course, especially when Tony’s quads weren’t the strongest.  Steve just wished he himself could remember to use his arms like Tony did—though he didn’t think he had any chance of that.  The lines of them were so elegant, and the way he used them seemed totally different, based on his music—finger snapping and swinging his hips, now.

Steve remembered that Tony hadn’t had a coach with him, so he shouldered his way through the reporters to wait for him by the side of the rink, like Tony had been waiting for him. They’d all skate together, later, of course, but normally Steve would have spent the intervening time fooling around with Bucky and Natasha backstage.  But it didn’t seem fair to leave Tony alone, especially when all the other skaters performing seemed so intent on isolating him.

Tony blinked at him as he swung toward the side of the ice and saw him there, waiting, and an unreadable expression went over his face.  “Hello there, big boy,” he said, almost a purr, as he swung off the ice and Steve held out his arm to help steady him, but there was something uncertain in his voice, the way he tentatively gripped Steve’s arm.

The tone still made Steve flush.  “I—just thought,” he said, and swallowed.  “You seemed like you were here alone, so.”

Tony smiled a little, the expression a tiny hint of a smirk, obscure and still hard to read.  “So you decided to be my escort?”

“You were waiting for me,” Steve pointed out.  “I … uh. People seemed to be …” he wasn’t sure how to phrase it politely.  Diplomacy wasn’t his strong suit.  But he didn’t want to be harsh.

“Giving me the cold shoulder?” Tony asked, and laughed.  “It’s not exactly a surprise.”

Steve was sure that was true, but that didn’t make it any more fair.  Or nicer to have to deal with, he was sure.  “All the same,” he said.  “Whatever their problem is.  I don’t have it.”

Tony looked at him, his eyes still unreadable, as he let Steve help him away from the rink. “Don’t you?” he said.  “Haven’t you heard the story?”

“Of course I have,” Steve said.  “I was there.”  In the audience, anyway, he added mentally.

“At the Grand Prix Final?” Tony’s eyes went a little wide.  “Jesus,” he said under his breath.  “And then I beat you out of your well-deserved, got-it-on-lock, straight shot to your National title.  And then I beat you again at Worlds.  And golden boy Mr. Rogers, what, doesn’t hold a grudge?”  He laughed, and it sounded bitter.  “You have more reason to hate me than anyone.”

“Why would I hate you?” Steve asked, feeling his stomach twist strange and bitter, a sour taste in the back of his throat.  “I barely even know you.  I don’t know the first thing about who you really are.  I’m not going to hate someone for being better than me.”

“That’s a first,” Tony muttered.

Steve shrugged, tried a bit of a smile.  “I’d have to hate an awful lot of people, then,” he pointed out.

Tony narrowed his eyes at him as he pulled away, bent to take off his skates.  “No ego on you at all, is there?” he asked.

Steve laughed.  “Of course there is,” he said.  “I know I’m good.  But having an inflated sense of my own abilities isn’t going to get me further with my skating, is it?”

Tony was quiet for a moment, pulling off his skate and flexing his toes, then tugging off the other. “I have to admit,” he said, as he straightened up, “your attitude is a new one on me.”

Steve shrugged.  “Maybe you don’t get out enough,” he said.

Tony smiled, a different smile, though still oblique, a little hard to pin down.  But this one was softer, seemed more real, even as crooked as it was.  “Maybe not,” he said.  “I mean, it’s possible.  I’m not ruling it out.  But I have this feeling that you’d stand out anyway.”

Steve felt himself turning red again.  Tony seemed to be good at making him blush. He wasn’t sure if he was flirting with him or not, but he dismissed that thought as ridiculous.  Tony had always had a reputation as a flirt; this sort of lowkey stuff was probably second nature to him by now, something he didn’t even think about.

“I don’t know about that,” he said, laughing a little awkwardly.  “Uh.  Anyway, I thought you could join me and my friends for warm downs while we wait for the finale.”

“Well, you are a little ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” Tony said, but he was smiling now, slinging his skates over his shoulder.  He looked Steve up and down, and then said, “All right, a big ray of sunshine.  A very big ray of sunshine.”

Steve could feel himself go red, an even deeper red, hot all the way down over the back of his neck, over his ears.  “I, um. Is that a yes?” he asked.

“Sure,” Tony said, and there was a tension in his eyes, and Steve didn’t know why, wished he could ease it, even as Tony’s smile grew more careless, more bright, and less, somehow, soft and real.  “Why not?”

Steve wanted to promise that it would be all right, that he’d make sure it was okay, that no one gave Tony a hard time, but he was afraid that would be too much.  They hardly knew each other, after all.  He would just make sure that no one gave Tony a hard time, and then, maybe next time, thought it felt presumptuous even to think about a next time, but maybe then Tony would feel well, safer, accepting an invitation from him.  “All right,” he said, and smiled at him.  “Great.”

“All right,” Tony said, smiling warily, brightly, as he dug in his bag and slid a pair of sunglasses over his eyes.  Steve had a sudden feeling he’d retreated behind a shield, a curtain, like a suit of armor, as he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and turned that stunningly bright smile on Steve.  “Let’s do this thing.”


End file.
